


the way you shake and shiver

by SoulJelly



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Scooby Doo - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Lesbian Relationship, Coming Out, Crossover, F/F, Literal and Metaphorical Closets, Multi, Vampires, discovering sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 16:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14500596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulJelly/pseuds/SoulJelly
Summary: ‘and Velma thinks to herself, heart hammering in her chest, that she just had to realise she might be a lesbian mere moments before getting murdered by vampires.’





	the way you shake and shiver

**Author's Note:**

> for xx_relations_xx community on Dreamwidth. Thank you to whoever provided this awesome prompt for 'Velma's lesbian awakening'.

 

Velma hears them hammering on the bolted door, muffled but insistent, and shrinks down into the baggy neck of her jumper, trying to be brave.

She wonders if it’s some strange curse of Mystery Inc., that trouble shows up wherever they go. Velma wouldn’t be surprised, not now, not after learning a only few days ago that monsters and magic really do exist. Fred’s elbow catches roughly in her ribs, his breath hot on her forehead as she tries to wriggle free. The hammering sounds again; the closet door wobbles in its frame. It’s so stuffy in the tiny, dark space, and Velma’s chest is so tight with fear that she can barely breathe.

“We need to bust out of here,” says Buffy, on Fred’s other side.

“Right,” he grunts in reply, accidentally winding Velma _again_. “We should split up. Velma and I will-“

“Wait a minute.” It’s dark, but Velma can practically hear the sound of Buffy’s hands planted on her hips as she says, “If we’re doing the splitty-uppy thing, we’re doing it my way.”

Now the intermittent sounds of vampires hitting on the door is interspersed with Fred and Buffy’s bickering; Velma sighs, pinches her nose beneath her glasses, tries to inhale strength and patience into her body. Twisting sharply, she manages to angle herself sideways, becoming suddenly, startlingly aware of the feminine form now pressed against her back.

“This is ridiculous,” murmurs a voice in her ear - the witches, Willow and Tara, Velma can’t distinguish them in the darkness - but whoever is speaking is indicating towards the arguing pair. Velma forgets her fear enough to scoff in agreement and roll her eyes; for a moment they’re just on another, normal mystery without any overly weird stuff.

“I know, right,” Velma manages, just before the cool, slim hand at her waist makes her breath hitch in her throat.

“I refuse to be ordered around _my_ school on _my_ mission by some… orange-scarf-wearing bigshot,” Buffy is saying, and Velma almost laughs aloud, but it comes out sounding like a half-strangled thing.

“Are you okay?” asks the girl at her back. _Tara_ , Velma realises by the length of hair which brushes Velma’s neck. It’s a good job it’s dark in here, she thinks, because the heat from her cheeks has probably completely fogged up her glasses.

“Betcha never thought your trip to Sunnydale would turn out like this,” chimes in Willow in a low, playful voice right by Velma’s ear. Her skin ripples with goosebumps which now have nothing to do with cold, or fear.

“I’ve seen some weird things in my life,” Velma quips, trying to focus through the dizzying waves of fear and.. other things, things which have no right to be felt so intensely all at the same time. The hands now on her arms, the weight against her back, they’re meant to be reassuring, but Velma just squirms and presses her thighs tightly together. “I mean, I hang around in a hippy van with a talking dog,” she says, and the low laughter this invokes stokes fire in the smart, sassy Velma of old, the one who builds robots and deciphers clues without a second thought.

These vampires, these monsters, whatever waits outside this closet space - they’re just asshole bad guys, and asshole bad guys always get their dues when they mess with Mystery Inc.

Velma clenches her fists.

There’s a soft rustle as Tara turns to Willow.

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

Then, louder-

“We’ll take her.” Willow’s voice cuts across Fred and Buffy, who stop mid-sentence.

“What?” asks Fred.

“We’ll go with Velma,” Willow elaborates, a smile in her voice. Tara gently squeezes Velma’s shoulders. “You two seem like you have some energy to burn off. Just make sure to actually, y’know, fight the vampires and not each other.”

“But, Will-“ Buffy says, but the pounding on the door is getting worse and the wood is practically vibrating in its frame; Willow and Tara reach around Velma to clasp hands and the smoky, woody, herby smell that Velma has come to associate with magic ( _real_ magic) prickles her nostrils. If it weren’t so dark, if they weren’t pressed up behind her, Velma is sure she would be slack-jawed and staring, watching their lips silently form the spells, two beautiful pairs of eyes gleaming. It’s not like she hasn’t been sneaking glances at the two ever since both groups first met.

Then Velma realises in a moment what’s about to happen, waits for the enemy to stream in from the other side of the door, and thinks to herself, heart hammering in her chest, that she just _had_ to realise she might be a lesbian mere moments before getting murdered by vampires.

Tara and Willow extend a hand each, a sweep of leather jackets and soft skirts, and the door bursts violently off its hinges.

It takes a stream of monsters with it, propelled ten metres down the corridor with ruthless blunt force, and the group bursts thankfully out of the closet to inhale lungfuls of fresh air.

Buffy is already leaping, whirling, locked in vicious combat with two of them while Fred wrestles a third.

“Split up, now!” he reminds them as he and Buffy steer their sparring partners to the left. “Find Daphne and the others if you can!”

Velma nods at him, adrenaline pushing away the last vestiges of fear. She can do this; there’s nothing she can’t do. Besides, if she’s going to die, she thinks wryly, it might be in the arms of the two most beautiful women she’s ever met.

She tears her attention from Fred and towards them. The look that passes between Tara and Willow makes Velma feel self-conscious, voyeuristic, like she shouldn’t be watching.

Then they turn that gaze on her like twin headlights, and hands grip her hands, arms link her arms, wind around her shoulders. They _see_ her, see everything she’s thought or felt, see the flushed cheeks and heaving chest, and they give soft, knowing smiles.

“Come on,” Willow says, and they run into the night. Together.


End file.
